For those who might be interested, it’s been 1 month now since I started my experiment.

I can say in all honesty that I’ve done ‘something’ in German every day since then. Some days it was small — like listening to a podcast. Other days I’ve worked on an online course from Deutsche Welle.

Have I noticed a difference? Yes, without a doubt.

But I think that more would be needed if I wanted to become truly fluent. 10 or 20 minutes a day is better than nothing, but probably not enough.

I’ve decided to undertake an experiment over the next year. Sort-of a ‘New Year’s Resolution’, starting a bit early. I’m going to try doing something — no matter how small — “auf Deutsch” (in German) each day, and document it here: http://taeglichepraxis.wordpress.com/

I started learning German around 2003, then worked in Germany between July 2006 and March 2007. I would say that I reached an ‘intermediate’ level of fluency at that point. Since then, without using it every day, my German has gotten progressively worse.

I decided then to do something more concrete than just “improve my German”. One of the purposes in writing it down will be to see just how much changes in a year, with minimal but consistent effort.

I’ve rented a bike probably a half-dozen times while traveling. When I pick up the bike, I pull out my tape measure to set the saddle height, then ask if I can put on my 120mm, -17 degree stem. I tell them it just won’t feel right otherwise. Then they look at me as if I’m straight out of The Princess and the Pea.

For the last year my bike hasn’t felt right. I’ve told people that I felt “crooked” on the bike. It didn’t used to be like that.

The person who did my last bike fit (Andy Applegate) suggested that I visit the Boulder Center for Sports Medicine (BCSM), as they could do a real ‘medical fit’. I filed it away as an interesting idea — maybe, some day. The thought of getting 2 bikes to and from Boulder seemed like a hassle. But then everyone I mentioned it to said, “wow, that sounds cool. You should do it.”

I exchanged a few emails with a guy who works at BCSM, and when he told me that I would be seeing Andy Pruitt were I to come, I said “ok, let’s do it”. How could I turn down the chance to be fit by a rock-star bike fitter? Andy Pruitt has literally written the book (well, “a” book) on bike fitting and has worked with many Pro Tour cyclists.

As an added incentive, there are like 1000 microbreweries in Boulder. “Beer is everywhere”, Shawn Adams told me.

Arrangements were made, the bikes arrived, and I showed up first thing Tuesday morning at BCSM. I showed Dr. Pruitt a picture of my x-ray. He had a similar break, years ago. I felt like I’d hit the jackpot — not only someone who knew about cycling fit and problems, but who know about my specific problem, first hand.

He poked and prodded, noted the still-apparent muscle atrophy (18 months later!), noticed that I still limp a bit, have leg-length imbalance, and reiterated what I’d been told previously: the anatomy of my right leg is just different now.

We got a baseline with my current fit, with Dr. Pruitt watching me ride. The motion capture confirmed what I had been saying: I was crooked on the bike.

First step was switching pedal systems (to Speedplay, since they are so adjustable). Next was putting a wedge and shim under my left cleat. Then moving the right a bit on my shoe. Lowering the saddle a bit. Raising the bars a bit. Another capture, and I was indeed straighter, but still a bit off.

Next step was putting a pressure-sensor pad over the saddle to get a ‘heat map’ of the pressure points. Before doing it, I said that I felt like most of the pressure was on my left side. The pressure map confirmed it — bright red on the left side. We tried a different style / shape of saddle — one where I would be sitting more on top, and that would encourage me to rotate my pelvis forward more.

Another look at the pressure map, and wow, it was amazing how it had evened out. This got me pretty close to straight on the bike. It felt good. I liked the pedals. The saddle would take some getting used to.

We moved to the TT bike, which went much quicker. A few minor adjustments, but nothing major.

By the time I got dressed and got my bikes back in the car, it was after 3pm. I’d been there most of the day.

It’s been over a month now, so I’ve had time to adjust to the changes. The new setup is most definitely better. I love being on the new pedal system. It took a while to get used to the saddle, but I like that too. It’s clear to me that I am sitting straighter on the bike, with more even pressure on the saddle.

It still doesn’t quite feel like the “old me” on the bike, but the gap is closing.

Huh. I would not have guessed that it’s been 6 full months since writing anything here. A few people have asked, so I checked. Kind of fitting that the last post was about the first race back. I guess it’s easier to write when you have bigger problems to write about.

The short version of the racing season goes like this: it went better than I feared, but not as well as I’d hoped.

I was able to race regularly, but not as much as I’m used to. I actually raced at times, rather than just riding along with the pack. Won a few races. But when things got really hard I was often at my limit. A lot of the time I felt nervous.

The big problem was that I just couldn’t train hard, consistently. Hard races or too much hard training would make my leg hurt. Not a tired-hurt, but hurt deep inside somewhere (which would move around to different places).

I’ve accepted what my orthopedist, massotherapist, and physical therapist have told me: my anatomy is different now; it’s not going to be the same. Which doesn’t mean that it can’t still get better: looking back since May, things continue to improve (but often in a two steps forward, one step back sort of way).

Maybe the biggest adjustment has been in learning to continuously make adjustments — both in attitude and in what I do physically. I still have this constant — and I mean literally constant — awareness that my leg just feels different now. I’m not sure that will ever go away (at this point, it doesn’t feel like it will).

One aspect of the ‘continuous adjustment’ was getting a full-on, medical bike fit at the Boulder Center for Sports Medicine. More on that in another post.

***
Update: Apparently I jinxed myself by writing this, as I woke up in the middle of the night with leg pain, and couldn’t ride. I’m blaming it on hammering a Strava segment 2 days ago. Stupid Strava.

Yesterday I finally pinned on a number and raced again. My number said 224, but the real number was 364: it was that many days since breaking my femur. One day shy of the anniversary.

After the race quite a few people asked, “how did you feel”? They didn’t ask about the result. They knew: the result wasn’t important.

So, how did I feel? At first it felt as though I’d crashed a party that’s been going on without me for a year. It was a very strange feeling — like I didn’t belong. That’s one of the things about bike racing. You could show up to run in the local 5k after not doing so for a year, and no one would notice. But in bike racing, you race with the same people week after week, ride shoulder-to-shoulder and put a large amount of trust in them.

It didn’t take too long to get over that though. And then the breakaway went up the road, containing my former teammate, Tris. And then it felt like ‘old times’ again.

But I think the people asking how I felt were really asking how my leg felt. And the answer to that is not as good as I’d hoped, but better than I had feared. Honestly, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to finish the race.

A couple of weeks ago, I wasn’t sure that I’d be able to race, period. I give my new physical therapist most of the credit for getting me to this point.

I’m not assuming that I’m back on the “race 2x per week” plan. But it’s a start.

It feels very strange: sitting at home on the first Saturday morning in April, drinking coffee, listening to music, and putting off doing my taxes. As opposed to being in the car, loaded with bike gear, on the way to a race. Which is what I’ve done on the previous 20 first-Saturdays-in-April (with one exception: the broken-collarbone-year).

Drinking coffee and listening to music isn’t a bad thing, but it’s not what I’d choose this morning, given the choice. Since people have been asking: I want to be racing. I just can’t yet.

It comes down to: I can’t go hard enough without it hurting. Go too hard then I end up having trouble walking up/down stairs. Or it hurts to walk, period

There’s an ironic aspect to this: getting on the bike and doing a bunch of miles has really helped — both mentally and physically. But so many miles on the bike I think has reinforced the imbalances that we cyclists tend to have. Strong in very specific areas, but weak in others.

It occurred to me that I haven’t walked more than 10 minutes straight for several months. It’s been all bike. When I walk, it’s still a bit crooked. I can’t stand one-legged on the repaired leg. So my operating hypothesis at the moment is that I need to do some more PT to strengthen those other areas.

We’ll see. The goal is that you see me with a number pinned on my jersey, before too long.

Tucson and Phoenix are barely 2 hours apart by car, but couldn’t feel more different when riding.

After unpacking and assembling my bike in Tucson I rode out to meet Shawn, who was waiting at a coffee shop. I had a bike lane the entire way. A few minutes later we were on a path, then off, then were climbing up Gates Pass.

It went that way the next few days: ride on some city roads with bike lanes, then within 15-20 minutes be out in the desert or climbing up mountains. Coffee shops and gas stations that are cool with cyclists filling bottles. Traffic, yes, but mostly tolerant.

Up in Phoenix a few days later, I rode out from my hotel looking over my shoulder every few seconds to check the traffic bearing down on me. Zig-zag down a maze of side streets to get to something more rideable, 45 minutes later. Look back and see the expanse of concrete.

That’s not meant to be completely down on Phoenix. There are some nice places to ride: from Scottsdale out to Fountain Hills, then north. Or up through Carefree to Bartlett Lake. But riding there feels more like a battle to get to those nice places.

I’ve previously written about “feeling like a local” when I get on the bike somewhere else (and interestingly enough, the last time I wrote about that was from Phoenix).

“Feeling like a local” and terroir seem to come together. I’ve long felt that you can more readily get a sense of place being on the bike. Certainly more so than driving in a car, and as much or even more so than walking.

All these different places become “my place” for a while, even Phoenix, even if it means I am primarily looking to survive on the roads.